


The Studio Files

by DevilishlyVintage



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - World War II, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29240427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilishlyVintage/pseuds/DevilishlyVintage
Summary: Have you ever wondered what happened before that fated summer in 1966? Before the people involved became who they are now?This book will provide a variety of short stories to read from, ranging from fluff, angst and much more. None of these stories are related to one another unless stated otherwise. All of these stories are my own and are based off of my own interpretations, none of it is canon and has simply been made for entertainment purposes.
Kudos: 4





	1. File 1: Joey Drew

**Author's Note:**

> [Ideally, for the best reading experience possible, it is best to read The Summer of '66 in it's current form before reading this. However, none of these stories will make any direct references to it or it's events, so you may do as you wish.]
> 
> Updates on this series will vary in between updates of the main story. Tags will be updated when more characters are written about.

** 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 #𝟷: 𝙹𝚘𝚎𝚢 𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚠 **

**_Beaufort, North Carolina, USA_ **

**_Autumn, 1927_ **

Golden-brown leaves scattered around the trees, piling up into foliage. The usual bitter breeze of the season was all around, air spiralling from the lips as coldness encased it. Daytime granted such innocent pleasures, sunlight and laughter making everything appear better than it actually was.

Nightfall served different offerings. No smiles, no brightness except from that of the moon. Dark blue and navy coated the sky, stars glistening in their beauteous way. A shovel pierced the ground below, over and over in a pattern until a shallow hole big enough to be a resting place had formed. Weighed blankets rolled into it with a thud, no time being wasted to cover them up.

Sirens blared in the distance, the muffles of concerned chatter present. Perfect. Everything was going according to plan. The metallic tool was disposed off, weighed down with stones and coverings before being thrown into the nearby river.

Joseph Andrews messed up his clothes and hair, creating tears in the fabric and grazes across his face, to make it appear as though there had been a struggle. He staggered out of the woodland, a staple in his community, collapsing when sighted by onlookers.

"Joseph?" An onlooker went ahead and checked his pulse, holding the youngster and sighing in relief when he detected life. "He's alive! Thank God."

"Who could do something like this?" Another, the Pastor of the local church, Adam, asked, mind boggled. "Primrose and Ernest are missing and now this misguided soul has gone and involved poor Joseph and Eloise! You poor things, you must have been terrified."

"Where...where's Ellie?" Joey coughed, appearing weak. "Where's my sister?"

"Little Ellie's doing just fine, kiddo." the man holding him smiled reassuringly, helping him up. "Doc's checkin' her over. You're lucky to be alive, the both of you. What happened, Joe? Word's going around that it looked like a massacre in there."

"Gareth, please. Joseph has already endured enough, he needs to be with Eloise. Come with me."

Adam put a hand on Joey's shoulder and escorted him to where his sister was sitting, wrapped in a quilt. Upon seeing her brother, Ellie wrapped her arms around him, to which he returned her loving gesture.

"Are you okay?" he looked at her, frowning at the fear in his sibling's eyes. "Ellie..."

"You did something bad, Joey..." she said, her voice a soft whisper. "They're gonna find out about it."

"No, Ellie, they're not." Joey denied, assuring and holding her close. "I thought everything out, no one is gonna find anything. When this all blows over, I promise we're gonna go far away from here where no one can hurt us again. I won't let them."

"Joseph Andrews?" inquired a police officer , showing his badge. "I'm Officer Henderson. We need to ask you and your sister a couple of questions down at the station about what happened tonight. Is that alright with you?"

"Of course, sir." Joey nodded, addressing Henderson properly.

"A-Are we in trouble?" stammered Ellie, linking her brother's arm.

Officer Henderson smiled and shook his head, he got down on a knee to meet her eye level. "No, sweetheart, neither of you have done anything wrong. My job is to make sure we find whoever did this so they can be brought to justice. We're going to do everything we can to locate your parents. If they're not found within the next twenty four hours, they'll be declared as missing. If you'll both come with me, we'll make sure you get to the station safely. Do you have anyone you can stay with while the investigation is underway?"

"Our Grandma and Grandpa, sir. They don't live too far from town." Joey answered, standing up. Ellie stood also, holding the knitted comforter to her body. "Come on, Ellie, we have to go with Officer Henderson now, okay?"

Ellie didn't say another word, holding her sibling's hand as they walked towards a vehicle. The typical police car they would see when on outings with their parents or grandparents, or when getting ice cream after attending church on Sundays.

***

_**Beaufort Police Station** _

"You and your brother were upstairs when the intruder broke in?" Henderson asked, jotting down notes. "What happened afterwards?"

"W-we weren't sure what was going on, and then we heard screaming. Mom started crying and then something made a big smashing sound. Joey then ran towards the window. He opened it and told me to climb out, so I did."

"Essentially, Joseph was trying to get you to safety. Is that what you're trying to say?" Henderson's brow raised, as he tried to understand the series of events. Ellie confirmed what she was saying.

"Yes, sir."

"I just knew I had to get Ellie out of there, there was no other way to go about it." added Joey, his tone mature for someone who had not long turned fifteen. "I was willing to put my own life on the line to make sure that happened. I love her more than anything else in the world, I'd do anything to keep her safe."

"Your dedication to your family is admirable, Mr Andrews. I have to commend your courage, what you did took a lot of quick thinking." Henderson commended, the praise sincere and meaningful. "Not a lot of kids your age would have thought of that."

_They're just kids. Why would someone wanna cause harm to respected members of the community? What were they after?_

"I'm no Saint, Officer." Joey half laughed, rubbing the back of his head before settling. "I was simply protecting my little sister, like any big brother would. I only wish that I could have helped my parents also."

"Don't beat yourself up, Mr Andrews. Whoever did this was armed and incredibly dangerous," Henderson concluded. "It wouldn't have been wise to engage head on. I'm sure your mother and father would want you to be safe above all else. I need to ask you about what happened next. You said you were chased, is that right?"

"Yes, sir, I was." Joey replied, placing his hand over Ellie's. "I told Ellie to run and I was pursued into the woods. I tripped and the attacker got me, but I was able to fight back by punching them. My upper body has always been much stronger than my lower half, so I didn't have a problem."

"You suffer from physical ailments, correct?" Henderson noted, ink scribbling on paper.

"Yes, that's right. I'm physically disabled." Joey gave a nod. "I would normally require a wheelchair or cane to walk, however I can get around unaided should I not have either of them with me."

"I see. So other than that, you would otherwise consider yourself healthy?"

"Yes. As far as I know, I don't have any other needs that would limit me in my day to day life."

Henderson closed his notepad and stood, moving the item aside and putting the pen on top. He glanced at his watch, getting the time. "Interview suspended at 7:25 PM. The two of you have done really well tonight, we'll be in touch if we need to do any further questioning. You're free to go, my colleague will show you out."

"Thank you, Officer." Joey shook the official's hand. "Let's go, sis, Grandma and Grandpa will be waiting for us."

"Bye." Ellie waved, instinctively following behind the teenager.

Lights flickered as the two exited the station, down the corridor to the double doors. A darkness had built up in Joseph Andrews, one so great for someone so young. The anger, hatred, sadness and regret of it all, would haunt him for the rest of his days.

"Joseph! Eloise!"

The overjoyed cries of their grandparents caught the attention of the siblings, wrapped in warm embraces.

"Oh thank God you're safe! When we heard about what happened, we were so worried!" Grandma Andrews wiped a tear away from her eye, holding her grandson. "Pastor Adam told us everything, everyone has been so supportive."

"Let's get you kids home." Grandpa Andrews said, the tip of his cane hitting against the path as he walked. "You can join us for supper." he stopped, his concerns going to his granddaughter. Her chocolate brown eyes had glossed over. "Ellie? Ellie, sweetie? Are you alright?"

Ellie shook her head, her mind going back to reality. She seemed dazed, but was ultimately fine.

"I'm okay, Grandpa. Just a little sleepy."

Grandpa Andrews thought nothing else of it, dismissing it as fact. He kept his view on her and Joey, something striking him as odd. The older Andrews child showed no signs of distress, his face void of any emotion. Immediately, he refused to believe the thoughts that clouded his head.

_No. No, that's ridiculous. Don't be so silly._

***

**_Joey Drew Studios, Burbank, California, USA_ **

**_Joey's Office_ **

**_A Few Years Later_ **

Laboured breaths and tear drops made the perfect cocktail for regret. Bright blue irises shimmered like glass, the heart hurting. Joey tipped his head back, the door acting as support. In hand, an aging photograph was brought closer to the face, his feelings becoming stronger.

"I'm sorry, Dad... I'm _so_ sorry. You didn't deserve what happened. If there is such a thing as paradise, I hope you've found it. As for you, Mother."

The tears turned to rage, cheeks reddening.

"I hope you're burning in Hell, _bitch_."


	2. Author's Note

Hello, readers! Thank you so much for checking out this book, it means a lot to have your support! The story you just read is the first in a series of short tales that I have decided to call _"The Studio Files."_

I summed it up briefly in the description, but to go into more detail, _The Studio Files_ serves as the origin stories for my own headcanons/interpretations of the BATIM characters, presenting them at different points in time and how these events have caused them to become the people they are in the main story, _The Summer of '66._

There is no specific update schedule for this book, however you can expect to see a new installment whenever I'm not working on _TSo'66._ Now that I have had my break and gotten myself back into the right frame of mind to create again, I will resume planning the next chapter.

Thank you again to everyone who has been reading and has stuck with me for the past two years, you don't realise just how much it means to me. And to anyone who is new, I welcome you to this crazy world of mystery and adventure.

As with TSo'66 these stories will be available on Amino, Wattpad and Google Docs for better distribution. I can't wait to share more with what I have in store for you all and hope you enjoy the ride as it continues!

Before I bid you all farewell, here's a short teaser for what's to come next in The Studio Files!

***

**𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 #𝟸: 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚢 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎**

_**Los Angeles, California, USA** _

_**Lawrence Mansion** _

_**June 6th, 1908** _

A tiny set of fingers wrapped themselves around a thumb, eyes meeting one another's. The little one was so full of wonder, being greeted with colour for the very first time. A woman, no older than eighteen, with ash blonde hair and eyes the colour of fine sapphire, peered lovingly and tearfully at the bundle of joy in her arms.

"Welcome to the world, my darling. Oh goodness, look at me," she wiped away her tears. "Mummy's already getting so emotional. But I suppose today is an exception for such things. From today, I'm a mother. Your mother. Nothing can hurt you as long as I am here, I will always do everything within my power to keep you safe from anything that tries to harm you."

Phillipa Lawrence kissed the baby's forehead. It fascinated her, how such this form of life had grown inside her for the past months was now a living, breathing human.

***

That's all for the time being! I'll see you all in the next part!


	3. File 2: Sammy Lawrence

** 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 #𝟸: 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚢 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 **

**_Los Angeles, California, USA_ **

**_Lawrence Mansion_ **

**_June 6th, 1908_ **

A tiny set of fingers wrapped themselves around a thumb, eyes meeting one another's. The little one was so full of wonder, being greeted with colour for the very first time. A woman, no older than eighteen, with ash blonde hair and eyes the colour of fine sapphire, peered lovingly and tearfully at the bundle of joy in her arms.

"Welcome to the world, my darling. Oh goodness, look at me," she wiped away her tears. "Mummy's already getting so emotional. But I suppose today is an exception for such things. From today, I'm a mother. Your mother. Nothing can hurt you as long as I am here, I will always do everything within my power to keep you safe from anything that tries to harm you."

Phillipa Lawrence kissed the baby's forehead. It fascinated her, how this form of life had grown inside her for months was now a living, breathing human. Dependent and trusting of those that had brought him life.

"We shall have to decide on a proper name for you." She nodded strongly, knowing it had to be made so. "I've been calling you Birdie these past nine months. I'll tell you the origins of it when you're older, but if you inherited a tender heart, I'm sure it'll make you as happy as I."

"If he turns out anything like you, Pippa, the love he'll possess will be great indeed. Our boy, our beautiful boy, will treat those he crosses with warmth and kindness." Phillipa's husband, Samuel, said as he watched his son, completely enamoured by him.

Phillipa hummed, in agreement with his words. If that was so, she now knew the perfect for her child. A name so fitting it was too perfect not to keep.

"Samuel." She decided, running a hand over her baby's locks of dark hair. "That will be his name. Samuel Lawrence Junior."

Samuel's attention was suddenly caught, he hadn't expected those words to leave his wife's mouth. They'd gone through numerous names before the birth. Alexander, Peter, William and Aaron for boys. Evelyn, Harriett, Maria and Bernadette for girls. But never had Samuel crossed either of their minds.

"S-Samuel?" Samuel questioned, still surprised. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I'm positive." Phillipa replied, shifting to get comfortable. "We can call him Sammy for short, to avoid confusion between him and you. Would you like that, Sammy? You'll be sharing such a wonderful name with an equally as wonderful father."

Baby Sammy cooed, his parents laughing light-heartedly.

"We'll take that as a yes." Samuel grinned, cradling the babe with Phillipa. "Welcome to our family, Sammy Lawrence. Just wait until your Aunt meets you, she's been as excited for this day as your mother and I have."

"Speaking of Phyllis," Phillipa stretched, glancing around. "Where is she?"

Samuel bit his lower lip, clearing his throat. "She specifically asked me not to say anything, but she took a bit of a funny turn while in the garden. Tending to the birds in your absence, you see. She didn't want to worry you."

"Sam-" She almost snapped, but refrained. "Samuel, love. You cannot expect me to act oblivious to something like this. Phyllis is my sister, I have to go to her and make sure she is well."

"I respect you wanting to take care of her, but I must urge that you remain here." Samuel supported the back of Sammy's head, taking over from Phillipa to allow her to rest. "You have not long given birth. Remember what the doctor advised, sleep and plenty of food and fluids. Sammy needs his mother, Phyllis needs her sister... _I_ need you. My wife."

"I need you to be as healthy as you can be, alright?" He added, patting Sammy's back. "Please. If you don't do this for yourself, then at least do it for those that care about you."

Phillipa was one to protest, but this time, she relented. Nodding, she got herself cosy. "Alright then, I will. But please check in on Phyllis, and be careful with Sammy."

"You needn't worry, I'll be sure I'm careful." Assured Samuel, with Sammy still in his arms. "I believe it will be the perfect opportunity for me and Sammy to have some father-son time. Come on, little man, how about we go and see Auntie Philly? She's been dying to see you and give you a big cuddle."

***

**_June 6th, 1918_ **

"Happy birthday, Sammy!" The Lawrence's celebrated, applauding after a series of well wishes. Phillipa and Phyllis smiled, cheeks radiant with happiness.

"Make a wish!" they said, watching the young boy blow out candles placed around the top of a grand chocolate cake. Cheers were all around, and Sammy grinned ear to ear in the presence of his family.

"Thank you everyone! Chocolate cake is my favourite!"

"We knew you'd like it." Phillipa cuddled her son, kissing the top of his head. "And since it's your special day, you get to have the first slice! Lucy, darling, can you please get a knife for us?"

"Of course, madam." The maid bowed her head, palms resting on her apron. "I'll get that right away."

When Lucy returned with the utensil, four pieces were cut. The family of four enjoyed an afternoon of baked goods, traditional games and song.

Sammy's voice had blossomed, possessing a natural talent for his craft. There was not a moment that went by that the Lawrence Mansion wasn't alive with the sound of music. Naturally, the child had stolen the show, his parents and aunt left impressed by the amount of control he had over his tone.

They were determined he would go places one day. With his good heart and considerate attitude towards others, he would grow into a fine man.

***

**_June 6th, 1931_ **

Inside a box contained two cufflinks, gold in colour with swirled engravings on them. Sammy peered at the contents with surprise, not having expected such a grand gift.

"I-I don't understand..." He hesitated, almost lost for words. "Papa, these are yours. Grandpa gave them to you. I couldn't possibly-"

"My father- your grandpa, sent these to me when I turned twenty one." Samuel explained, smiling. "He would want you to have them, I'm sure of that. I hope one day you will get to do the same as I am doing now, and pass them onto your son."

"I really...I really don't know what to say." Sammy said, in awe at the beauty of such a vanity. "I'll take good care of them, I promise. I won't let you or Grandpa down."

"You will never let anyone down, especially not me. You're as wonderful as wonderful can be." Samuel said, joyful and warm. "Happy birthday, my boy. Now, how's about a celebratory cigar?"

"I don't mind if I do." Sammy replied, happiness filling him. "Thank you, Papa."

Samuel hummed, whistling a tune as he walked down the corridor with his son by his side.

_No, son. Thank you._

***

_**June 6th, 1966** _

Candles were lit with a lighter, flowers in vases by the side of a photo frame. Pictured was Sammy Lawrence, aged twenty-eight. Phillipa sniffled, wiping her eyes with a tissue.

"How old would he be today, dear?" Samuel asked, holding his wife.

"Fifty-eight. He's almost sixty years old, can you believe it? He could have children by now, maybe even grandchildren." Phillipa responded, there was some optimism as she spoke. "I'll never give up hope."

"Though do you not think he would have gotten in contact with us by now?" Phyllis said, her voice wobbling when she continued on. "Pippa, I hate to suggest it because you and this family mean everything to me, but... it's been thirty years. It's time to accept that Sammy isn't coming home. He's gone."

"They never found a body!" Phillipa snapped, her knuckles shaking. "No. No, my boy is alive, I can feel it in my bones. I would know if he was dead. I'd know it. I'm his mother... I'd know it. I'd know it, damn it I'd know it!"

The elderly woman fell to her knees, bursting into tears. "I just...I just want my son! My baby...I miss him so much!"

Her cries, loud and piercing, could have shattered glass had they increased. The pain of the situation never healed, not completely. Broken hearts ceased to mend, remaining torn in half.

The mansion felt as though it had been coloured grey, the life that had once made it glow was gone for good.

Soon enough, the ones that had founded such a beautiful home would succumb to their broken hearts. All but one, who pledged herself to honour the memories of her family.

Her name was Phyllis Brown, or as she came to be known, Phyllis Lawrence.


	4. File 3: Bertrum Piedmont

** 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 #𝟹: 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚖 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚍𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚝 **

**_Kensington, West London, England_ **

**_Winter,_ ** **_1895_ **

Headstones carved with dates of birth and death marked the green land. Beside them were flowers of varying colours, all having a different meaning to the people who had placed them there. The graveyard was a place for those who had lost loved ones to reflect on the time they had with them, to remember them for who they were rather than what they had become. Bertrum Piedmont had experienced loss, his heart having hardened over the passing months.

"Grief is dealt with in different ways, Mr. Piedmont." The Vicar said, standing by the young man. "There is no right or wrong way to feel about such a tragedy. Your parents were hard working people, respected socialites as well. It is truly saddening that they have been taken from us. We can only pray that God has been kind to them."

"Please. My parents were atheist, they would refer to those ideals as nothing but fiction." Bertrum scoffed, rain beating down on his umbrella. "No one knew the first thing about them. Yes, they had their personas to the outside world, but behind closed doors they were selfish, unloving and inconsiderate towards me my whole life. Sympathy or empathy is not how I feel regarding them. If you desire to know my true feelings, I feel elated. Happy. They have departed from this world and perhaps it is for the best. In the end, they meant nothing to me."

The Vicar was stunned, how could someone be happy that their parents had died? Was Bertrum's account so accurate that it had boiled into unfathomable hatred?

"What makes you say such things, my boy? George and Adelaide were your parents," He reasoned. "The ones who gave you life. Yet you have the audacity to say such terrible things now that they are dead? Forgive me for overstepping my boundaries, but I believe that makes you no better than them."

"They simply were not fit to be human beings, Vicar, let alone parents." Bertrum's fist clenched, even thinking about them hurt. "I don't think they loved themselves, let alone each other. Tragic, of course, but that does not change how I am and will always be. I'm going to be a better Piedmont than they ever were. Not lead the filthy lives they had. I was a child born out of duty, not out of love."

The Vicar kept his cool, muttering a short prayer under his breath. "What do you intend to do with your life, Mr Piedmont? Now that you have the choice?"

"I have already made arrangements to have the mansion sold." Bertrum said coldly, turning on his heel to walk away. He kept his back turned to the holy man as he proceeded to go. "When the money comes in from the sale, I will use what I have to emigrate to America. I intend to pursue a career in the amusement park industry, I have contacts who have shown interest in working with me. I would advise not getting involved in business that does not concern you. Good day, Vicar."

"But-"

"I said good day." he interrupted harshly, not saying another word. The eighteen year old reached into his coat pocket, taking out a cigar case. They had belonged to his father, bought just a few days before he died. Only a few were missing, and with a lit matchstick, he set one of the tobacco rolls alight and smoked from it.

_I have a will reading to attend to in the next half hour. I'm actually surprised Mother and Father left one, considering how they were. Though if I knew them at all, I'd say it was because of that 'duty' they always talked about. Disgusting. They can rot in the pits of Hell for all I care and I still wouldn't give them a second thought. I don't need their approval, nor do I seek it. Not anymore. No point chasing something you will never grasp, after all._

***

**_Spring, 1898_ **

**_Piedmont Manor, USA_ **

"Are you sure this is appropriate for a child's room?" Bertrum wondered, studying the blue and gold shades all around the room. A grand crib had been assembled, ready for use, and there was a rocking chair and toys as far as the eye could see. "I think I may have overdone it."

"Miss Emily is a beautiful little girl, Master Piedmont." Said the Maid, waiting patiently for her next task. "This room reflects that well, if I do say so myself. She'll be quite happy here, I'm sure."

"As long as it is suitable and nothing can cause her harm, that is what matters most." Bertrum's back straightened, hands behind his back. "I cannot have my ward in an unsafe environment, it would be unbecoming of me to allow as such. Emily is part of the next generation, she will carry on my legacy when I am unable to."

"I am sure she will grow up to do great things." The Maid smiled, holding said baby in her arms. "Shall I put her down for her nap?

"I can do that in a moment," Bertrum said, gently taking Emily from her. "I would like to spend some time with her first. Alone, please."

"Of course, Master Piedmont. Good day." The Maid bowed her head and left the room, closing the door behind her. Bertrum took a seat, sighing as Emily's head was resting on his chest.

"I cannot say this will be easy for me, Emily." he said, softly patting the young one's back. "I don't know the first thing about looking after children, nor did I ever really plan to learn. Life works in mysterious ways, does it not? Here I am at twenty-one, taking care of a relative I didn't even know existed until a few weeks ago. I'm unsure of what caused me to agree to this exactly, but a part of me...I suppose I didn't want you to be subjected to the same type of childhood I was."

Bertrum cleared his throat, the words he said hitting close to home. "My parents never cared, not about me or anyone else. Their affection towards each other was like a counterfeit good. Fake. A sham. I may make some mistakes along the way, my dear, but one thing I do know is I would never harm you. I see potential in you, Emily. Great potential."

Emily cooed, snuggling into the fabric Bertrum's coat. Her tiny hands grabbed onto it as she started yawning and closing her eyes.

"You have had quite the day, haven't you, my girl? There we are now, into the cot you go." Bertrum lay the little one down, covering her with a blanket and giving her a stuffed animal to keep her company.

Turning to leave, he was about to turn the oil lamp down before his subconscious urged him to go back. He went to the crib once more, leaning over the side and kissing Emily's forehead.

"Sleep tight, Emily. I will always be here for you."

The lights in the room dimmed and the little Piedmont slept soundly. Bertrum wondered how all of this would work out, how he would be raising Emily as his own.

_What if...What if I turn out just like how Mother and Father were? No. No, I refuse. Emily will rely on me, count on me to guide her and teach her the most valuable lessons life has to offer. I cannot and will not compromise that. To have her hold the same burdens I have on my shoulders, I can't fathom such a thing. I made it my duty to be a better Piedmont, and that is what I shall do._

"Fast asleep, I see?" The Maid observed softly, hands returning to her front. "Very good, Mr Piedmont. You're a natural."

"A natural? Oh goodness no." Bertrum shook his head, blushing shyly. "I was simply doing what you said. Thank you, Jessica. Your help is appreciated."

"You're very welcome, Master Piedmont." Jessica replied, rubbing her hand together. "Right, it's almost 12'o'clock. Time for Afternoon Tea. It's an interesting thing, what you brought over with you from England. I'd quite like to go there someday."

Bertrum joined her side, walking with her. His look was kind as he did so. "Perhaps one day, you will. Would you like to join me?"

Jessica appeared shocked, but quickly regained her composure. "It'd be non-traditional, Master Piedmont. Though if this is what you ask of me, I have no place to decline."


	5. File 4: Henry Munroe

**Disclaimer: Monroe is the surname of my Henry headcanon, given long before chapter 5 was released and revealed his last name to be Stein. Please keep this in mind while reading. Thank you.**

**I would also like to point out that the religious context in this story is for the purpose of the characters only, it does not reflect my viewpoints on religion and I mean no harm with anything that is written.**

** 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 #𝟺: 𝙷𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚢 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚛𝚘𝚎 **

**Nuremberg, Germany**

**April 16th, 1945**

_"Henry...Henry what's the matter with ye, lad!? Oh my God, ye've gone mad! Someone get that thing away from him, someone- Henry, no please!"_

Connor Flanagan and other men were shot dead, riddled with internal and external wounds. Their eyes lost their hue, turning lifeless.

Mud and dirt met with grazed knees, cuts all over the body. Blood had congealed from an open wound near the eye, dizziness making it difficult to keep focus. Ringing pummelled his ear drums, the rain like heavy duty bullets as they hit his skin. They were all dead. Every last one of them. The friends and comrades that had relied on him...gone.

It was funny what a moment of madness could make people do. Sometimes it brought out the best in them and other times the worst. How? How could he go on knowing what had happened?

Henry had no other choice. As his father would say, one had to press on and look to the future. There was no taking back what had been done, there was only moving forward.

When the line of fire had ceased and there was nothing left but corpses of soldiers both allies and enemies, silence coated the battlefield like a blanket. No gunshots, no bombs, not even the barking of orders. Just a deathly quiet.

Fingers clasped around his wrist, a large gasp for air and a cough piercing the air and bringing Henry's attention to the situation. A man, no older than himself, wearing a German uniform, pleaded with him to end his life.

"Please...my lower spine was shot...I can't feel my legs. This is no life for anyone to lead. I know...I know we have all done things that are unforgivable in this damn war, things neither of us are proud of...but if there is any shred of humanity left on this field, I ask that you spare some."

Henry sympathised with the man. Unusual, that he was feeling sorry for the person he was supposed to defend his country from, but when it came down to it, he was simply human. Like him, like anyone else.

"What's your name?" he asked, waiting for a reply.

The German smiled weakly, reaching for his gun with a shaky hand. He coughed, trying to steady his breathing. "Günter...Günter Neumann. Yours?"

"Henry. Henry Munroe." Henry introduced himself, remaining as calm as possible. "I'm sorry you've found yourself in this situation, Günter. You won't be in pain much longer."

He took the weapon from Günter, ensuring there was enough ammunition. Seeing a singular silver bullet, he closed it back up.

 _One bullet,_ he thought. _Straight in the head should do it. He won't feel a thing._

" _Danke Schön,_ sir." Günter said in grace, grunting when he tried to adjust his position. "You...you have no idea what this means to me. I'll get to be with my loved ones once again. Before I go, will you say a final prayer with me?" he offered his hand. Henry held it, nodding without question.

"Of course."

The two closed their eyes, reciting the Lord's Prayer.

" _Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven._

_Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil._

_For thine is the kingdom and the power, and the glory, forever and ever._

_Amen."_

Releasing his grip, Henry positioned the gun so he was ready to fire. Günter, still lying in darkness, spoke one last time.

"Our time together was short, but I am thankful it was with someone who cared enough to help me. Even if...even if it was the enemy. God bless you, Henry."

"God bless you too, Günter." Henry said, preparing himself.

With those last words the shot was fired. Günter Neumann was no more.

***

**Summer, 1965**

**Flanagan's Gifts & Convenience, Burbank, California**

Amelia Flanagan was a woman who always put too much on her plate at the expense of business. For example, lifting large boxes of stock despite her ageing frame. Despite not being as young as she was when starting out her small store with her now deceased husband, she kept herself going no matter the cost.

"Another summer is officially underway, laddie." she said to a photograph. Pictured was a young man of around thirty, dressed in a uniform and standing proudly. "My sweet Connor, ye were really just a wee babe when ye were taken from me."

Henry stood behind the counter, tapping his nails along while listening to the local radio. Connor Flanagan, the mention of the name brought him pain.

"It's exactly twenty years today, isn't it?" he spoke up, his movement stopping. "Since his death?"

"Aye." Mrs Flanagan reflected warmly. "I'll never forget how bright of a boy he was. He always thought the world of ye, Hank. To him, you were his best friend."

Henry's fingers clenched into a fist, despite his efforts to relax them. Connor was a true friend, perhaps the most honest and most genuine guy he had met after Joey. Now he was dead, and it was all his doing.

"He was my best friend too, Mrs Flanagan. I thought highly of him too. Don't think I'll ever meet anyone else quite like him in my life time." he said, forcing a smile. "Here, let me help you with those."

Henry gathered the boxes and put them in the back room, wiping sweat from his forehead. The day was hot like any other, but apparently a heatwave had been forecast. Regardless, he never really paid attention to the news.

Connor, so many of their comrades...and Günter. He hoped they were resting easy, wherever their souls had landed up. Not that he was one to believe in Heaven or Hell, anyway. At least not anymore, he hadn't been a man of God for many years.

"Such a sweet boy." Mrs Flanagan smiled, holding a box of cigarettes. "Ye want a smoke?"

Henry shook his head, declining the offer. "Bit early for my smoke break, but thanks, Mrs Flanagan. I'll get to opening up the rest of the shop, a few shelves still need stocking up."

He returned to the front of the building and got to work with what he needed to do. A shelf yet again needed fixing so that was something he needed to keep note of, he was sure Mrs Flanagan had a tool set he could use.

The fridges were fully stocked with soft drinks and water, along with snacks that required being in cool temperatures. In the freezer were ice pops and ice creams galore, perfect for anyone wanting to spend a lovely couple of hours on the beach topping up their tan or enjoying a game of ball with friends.

So much had happened in his life, Henry reflected. From losing his place in the very company he co-founded, to breaking off his engagement from the woman he thought was the one he was going to spend the rest of his life with. Amusing, how things could turn out.

Like the ordinary working day, women much too young for him would come in to purchase something. As he'd cash up their items, they'd make a flirtatious remark. He kept his mouth shut and took their comments as nothing but playful banter, despite the annoyance of it happening nearly every single day. Perhaps this was the world's way of telling him he needed to get back out there, find someone to share his life with rather than be melancholy over what could have been. Maybe he would cut down on tobacco and drink less, clean up his act a little and find somewhere better in his life. The wishful thinking was as wondrous as it possibly could be, but it did not change reality. It could not be tampered or compromised, for it was instructed to do the same thing over and over again.

Wasn't that Albert Einstein's _Definition of Insanity_?

**Translation:**

_Danke Schön- Thank you very much_


End file.
